Inception (The Marked Book 1) (9 page)

“What are you talking about?” I recoiled. This conversation just took a strange, unexpected turn.

“I am talking about
your
truth, Jemma. About who you really are, and where you come from.”

“I know exactly who
I
am and where
I
came from,” I said, staving off the sudden trepidation that erupted inside. “This isn’t about me. This is about vampires. Vampires who don’t seem to be real to anyone but me and you and your creepy little books,” I said flicking my hand in his direction.

“Indeed, it
is
about vampires,” he conceded with a curt nod. “That is where it all began, so that is where I will start.”

A clap of thunder rumbled above us, pushing my erratic heartbeat further over the edge.

“Supernatural beings have existed since the dawn of time, Jemma. Angels, demons, the good and bad alike, all subsisting on the fringe of our reality. Every continent has its own version of the same tales and even though these written accounts can be found throughout the globe, it is important to understand that these beings are not of this world,” he said, punctuating it with a sweeping hand gesture. “They’re bleed-ins from other Realms that don’t belong here, and so their time here has always been conditional—temporary. There is, however, one creature that defies this universal truth. One supernatural breed that is inherent to this world, and that breed is known as a
Revenant
.”

“A Revenant? You’re talking about vampires, right?” I asked, making the connection only because of the book title. It wasn’t something you’d soon forget.

“Yes, Jemma, I’m talking about vampires, but more to the point, I am talking about a special breed of demon—a vampiric demon known as a Revenant. Unlike other demons, the very first Revenant rose from the ground right here on earth, over two thousand years ago in the Kingdom of Dacia—”

“The kingdom of
what
?” I heard myself interrupting, my eyebrows furrowed in bemusement. “Is this like a fairy-tale type of story?” It was a fair question, I thought.

“No, Jemma, this is not a fairy-tale type story,” he said, frowning now. “Dacia was an ancient Kingdom that existed thousands of years ago. Today, that region is mostly known as Romania, all of which you can find in a
book
,” he explained, exaggerating the word.

It sounded like a dig.

“The Kingdom, like most regions at that time was under constant attack by the Roman Empire. For a while, they had managed to stave off defeat, but with Dacia’s diminished numbers and dwindling resources, they knew it would only be a matter of time before they would be conquered. Unwilling to surrender, King Decebalus ultimately took matters into his own hands, forever altering the course of humanity.”

He paused and looked out the window, collecting his bearings. “What do you know of Nephilim?”

I shrugged. “Never heard of him.”

“Not him,
them
,” he corrected. “The Nephilim were said to be the offspring of humans and fallen Angels. Angels who rebelled against God and whose unsanctioned union with humans resulted in the creation of new bloodlines; beings that were neither Angel, nor human, but rather something in the middle.”

“What do you mean something in the middle? Like a hybrid?”

“That’s one way to look at it,” he nodded. “Descendants who still carry that Nephilim blood today are known as
Anakim
—a rare people born with the strength of Angels and the Spirit of man. Earthly beings with otherworldly powers, if you will.”

“O-kaaay,” I said slowly, not quite sure how this fit in.

“It was one such bloodline—a faction of Anakim known for their magical delving and sorted affairs with the thralls of power—that were summoned by the King to come to Dacia’s aid using their ethereal magic. The
Casters
, as they’re better known today, knew full well that Dacia’s greatest challenge was their army’s lack of strength and numbers, and so they set out to create a spell that would essentially wake the dead, bringing them back to life stronger, faster, and more powerful than they ever could have been before, thus eradicating both pivotal problems in one impetuous move.”

My eyes widened in horror as I knew where this was going.

“And sadly, it worked. The spell was cast, and the dead rose from the ground in droves. Only they didn’t come back
right
. The newly reanimated were strong, yes, much stronger than their human counterparts, and they were virtually indestructible, but they had no interest in fighting a war, or heeding instructions, or doing any of the things they were brought back to do.”

His eyes darkened into an eerie shade of smoke. “The only thing they wanted to do was feed, and the only thing that could satiate their appetites and sustain them, was blood.”

“Holy crap. It’s actually true.”

“Language, Jemma.”

“Sorry,” I apologized, though I hardly thought a little curse word even remotely mattered at the base of what he had just recounted. And, plus, I wasn’t crazy! “So these
witch
Angels or whatever—” I started clumsily.

“Casters,” he corrected.

“Yeah—why didn’t they just reverse the spell after they realized it wasn’t working the way it was supposed to?”

“They certainly tried. Upon seeing their misstep, they immediately tried to rectify it with another spell that aimed to expel the reanimated ones from our world and send them back into the Hell from which they were believed to have come.”

“So what happened?”

“Well, it didn’t work,” he said callously. “Undoing a spell is not a simple deed, Jemma. Once you create something, you have conjured a new reality. You cannot simply tap into a magical undo button. What you have created now exists, therefore you must work with that new reality, and it isn’t always easy to do.”

“Right. And since vampires are still around today, obviously they weren’t able to do anything about it.”

“Well, that’s not entirely true. Most of the initial spells went awry in one way or another, though many of them are also responsible for the Revenant as we know them today.”

“Is that supposed to be a good thing?” I snorted as flashes of my terrifying attack bouncing around in my consciousness.

“Well, yes. For one, they
can
be killed now. However difficult it may be, they’re not indestructible the way
First Immortals
were. For another, they no longer have free reign over this realm as they once did, further hindering their survival.”

“What does that mean, they don’t have free reign?”

“Well, quite simply, they have restrictions now. Supernatural barriers that inhibit them. As long as they have these vulnerabilities, they can be exploited.”

“Exploited how?” I asked and then said the first thing that came to mind. “Like with garlic and holy stuff?”

“Holy stu—good grief, Jemma.” He did a double take as though I were the village idiot. “Apotropaic symbols can be useful in certain instances, though they should never be depended upon. There are many more layers to their evolution; crucial confines that shaped their very existence.”

“Their susceptibility to wood, for example,” he said, flicking down a finger, “could disable a Revenant instantly if driven through the heart, and their curse into darkness forced them to hunt only with the moon. They could no longer enter dwellings without a summon, which kept them out of homes and away from families. Even their inability to hold dominion over other supernaturals helped because it prevented them from exploiting powerful beings like the Anakim, and potentially achieving ultimate reign. All of these things were helpful in containing them, even getting an upper hand at times, though it certainly did not resolve the calamity.”

Of course not
. “So what did they do?”

“Well, they kept at it,” he nodded. “And while they did eventually eradicate most of the
Firsts
, unfortunately, by that time it was simply too late. The ripple had begun. The reanimated had since infected hundreds of others, and it appeared that those who were infected directly had already become something different—something entirely separate and unaffected by the magic that had created their Makers.”

He shook his head, ceded, as though he were somehow responsible. “And with that, a new breed was born, one that sat on the very crown of our Chain of Life, and sadly, there was nothing more the Casters or their magic could do. What was done, was done, and the rest is history. The Roman Empire eventually prevailed, and King Decebalus, unable to live with what he had done, killed himself shortly after.”

“So that’s it?” I snapped in disbelief. “Everyone just moved on, did nothing? Let the vampires continue multiplying freely?” I was unable to quell my anger. This was personal in so many ways.

“Certainly not,” he said, looking outside the window as we made our way through the gates of the Blackburn Estate. “All things have their counterpart, Jemma, and evil is no exception. What nature cannot provide for, we create.”

“Okay, good, so...what does that mean?” I asked as I picked up my schoolbag from the floor bed and waited for him to elaborate on his cryptic response.

“What it means, my dear, is that the rebellious Angels were not the only ones who fell.”

10. the sacrifice

I flopped down onto the leather chair in front of my uncle’s desk as he returned the book to its rightful place and circled back around with another one in his hands, peeling back each page with the greatest of care. The book looked similar to the one I had
borrowed
earlier with the same gilded lettering and leather bound encasing, and was undoubtedly from the same collection.

“What is that?” I asked him, detonating the silence just as another crash of thunder rang out its reverberation around us.

The room was dim, cold, locked in the dreary atmosphere of the untold secrets it housed. It made me feel uneasy, like no matter how much I saw or heard here, I might still never find myself on the right side of the looking glass.

“The Powers,” he started, taking a seat on the edge of the desk, “were
Warrior
Angels from the Second Sphere who controlled the borders between Heaven and Hell. Unlike lower ranking Angels who weaved in and out of our daily lives, Warrior Angels were of a higher ethereal caste, charged with governing the earth as a whole and protecting it against supernatural evil.”   

I nodded, craning my neck to get a look at the book title. The gold reflected oddly, obscuring the title and rendering it impossible for me to make out the letters.

“It’s widely believed that no Warrior Angel has ever fallen from grace,” he explained with detectable pride. “And by most accounts, that is as close to the truth as they will get.
We
, however, know different. We know that it was precisely their unwavering loyalty and sworn oath to protect this world that forced them to do what they did. In order to right the wrongs of the Casters and to stop the killings perpetrated by the Revenants, the Warrior Angels made the ultimate
sacrifice
.”

He raised his eyebrow to me, prompting me to fill in the blank as though I should know this.

I didn’t.

“They...killed themselves?” I asked, dragging out the words. Wait, that doesn’t even make sense. How would that help anything?

“No, Jemma, they
Fell
,” he said, nodding into the word. “They sacrificed their place in Paradise, and fell to Earth in order to create a new bloodline of Warrior Descendants who would be powerful enough to rival the Revenants, strong enough to slay them, and loyal enough to dedicate their lives to this mission,” he explained, his dark eyes sharp and judicious. “It was from this blessed union of fallen Warrior Angel and spirited human, that the very first
Slayer
on Earth was born, giving rise to a legacy unlike any other. A legacy that has been protected throughout the ages by a secret order of Anakim.”

He closed the book and placed it on the desk beside him. “That order is known as
The Order of the Rose
, and through its toil, Slayers continue to be born all over the world, some from bloodlines that go back thousands of years—sacred Warrior bloodlines that are carefully guarded and propagated to ensure the continuance of this lineage. So that the fight against evil can go on,” he said with a rolling hand gesture. “So that Slayers can continue to be born and fulfill their destiny.”

He narrowed his gaze to me and softened his voice. “You, my dear Jemma, are of this legacy.”

My bottom lip dropped abruptly, engaging in a series of rises and falls as I tried to find some words—any words at all.

“I’m sorry,
what
?”

He reached forward and placed a steadying hand on my shoulder. “
You
are a Slayer, Jemma, a Warrior Descendant, and this is your birthright.”

“What are you talking about?” I snapped, jumping up from the chair, causing it to sail backwards and screech across the hardwood floor. “Is this some kind of joke?”

“Of course not, I—”

“You’re lying!” I snapped, cutting him off. “You’re making this up! I don’t know where you’re getting this from, but you’re mistaken. Or nuts. Or both.” I couldn’t keep a straight thought in my head. My eyes were wild with panic.

“I know this is a lot to take in, but I assure you, there is no mistake of your lineage. This is who you are.”

“No.” I shook my head. “It’s not possible. If this were true, my father would have told me so. He wouldn’t have lied to me. Not about something like this.” My hands were trembling now.

“Thomas’s omissions were meant to protect you. He wanted a different life for you, and for Tessa. A better life than the one your mother had.”

My mother
? I shook my head, unable to process any of this.

“He left Hollow Hills the week after Jacqueline left us,” he said, his voice cracking on my mother’s name. “He swore to keep all of this from you and Tessa, to protect you from the truth. You were only a child then, not even three. I thought it was his anguish speaking.” He shook his head, visibly affected. “I thought he would come to his senses once he had time to mourn his loss. But he never came back. Not until Tessa.”

“When she moved here,” I remembered aloud.

The move happened right after Tessa’s school placed her on academic probation. My father had been worried sick about her. About her future and the road she was headed down. In the end, they decided it was best if she went to live with my uncle. New town, new school, new rules. It was what she needed, he’d said.

Dammit, was any of that true?

“Tessa was
changing
,” explained my uncle. “She was having the dreams, the visions,
sensing
the Revenants. It was much too dangerous to keep her in the dark. He had no choice but to send her back here where we could protect her—train her. And that is what we did. However, he refused to give you up, too. He said he still had a chance to
save
you, as he put it.” He shook his head, clearly upset with his brother’s decision. “It was then that he sought out the help of a Caster.”

The conversation I overhead heard that morning came back to me. “To put a spell on me?” I asked, my throat burning from lack of moisture, my head spinning from lack of blood flow.

He nodded. “A Cloaking spell that would suppress your powers, keep them locked away. He’d hoped it would protect you.”

I could certainly believe that part about my father. If any of this was true, I knew my father would do everything in his power to protect us, to give us the best life he could. And up until his death, he had done just that.

Which begged the question: “Why are you trying to break the spell if it’s protecting me?”

“It’s much too dangerous,” he said as he motioned for me to sit down again.

I didn’t hesitate as I was growing increasingly unsteady.

“Now that you’ve reached the age of maturity, I’m not sure the spell is strong enough anymore or the safe choice for you,” he said, removing his glasses. “By suppressing your true nature, you’re also suppressing your abilities...abilities that could mean the difference between life and death for you.”

“What abilities?” I asked, my voice rasping.

He hesitated to answer the question. “Well, such as being able to
sense
a Revenant,” he offered finally. “You must know that once a Revenant marks you, as a mere human, there’s little you can do to deviate the attack. They are predators in every sense of the word. They will hunt you, drain you, and leave you for dead with no recollection of what transpired. There is no mercy there. No humanity whatsoever.”

My mind flashed back to the attack eight months ago—the terrifying, relentless attack that still haunted my dreams at night—and I believed him.

“As a Slayer,” he went on, “you have certain advantages over them, such as your ability to sense them. This allows you to track them and vanquish them before they even have a chance to mark you, virtually turning the hunters into the hunted.”

Sense them? Track them?
Vanquish
them?

This man was off his freaking rocker. I had absolutely no desire to do any of that—none. There wasn’t a single part of my being that was even remotely interested in getting involved in what he was going on about.

“No. That’s not happening.” I shook my head fully decided. “I don’t want to sense them, or see them, or kill them, or know anything about them. I just want to make it through high school, graduate, maybe go on a road trip somewhere nice, and just—”

“Jemma,” he interceded. “This is what you were born to do. This is your Calling.”

“My Calling?” I repeated incredulously. “The hell it is.”

A calling implies I have a choice, doesn’t it? That I could answer the call, or not. That I have a choice in whether or not I accept this as my destiny? Well, I don’t. I don’t want anything to do with it. And I
don’t
accept the call. Matter of fact, this line is no longer in service.